


Measure of Control

by soyranger



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Mind Control, Consensual Non-Consent, Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Control, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22541263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyranger/pseuds/soyranger
Summary: A couple's adventures in erotic hypnosis!
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	Measure of Control

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This work contains trance-y language. If you are susceptible to them and/or have your own triggers, please read with caution.

“I’m home!” Shiro calls, toeing off his shoes by the door and placing his keys in the handmade bowl on the coffee table.

No answer.

He sighs. Keith must be at the workshop. He’s practically lived there for the entire week. Shiro’s been told it’s crunch time (Shiro feels like it’s perpetually crunch time) since they’re firing the kilns this weekend. More than missing his boyfriend, Shiro wonders how many hours of sleep Keith had gotten in several days.

He sheds his uniform jacket and slacks and changes into a comfy shirt and sweats. He makes sure the scrape of his slippers against gravel is heard as he approaches the workshop. There’s no rhythmic hum of the potter’s wheel, but a light from a laptop and the furious clack of keys.

Because of course on top of finishing two weddings’ worth of tokens, their regular stock and some commission orders, Keith is in the middle of writing his Master’s Thesis. Defense is a semester away, but the motions of finishing up your field of study is a constant looming press on your back, no matter how much you love it. Shiro knows from experience.

“Babe?”

Keith heaves an almighty sigh and leans back into the rickety workshop chair with such force it almost topples over. Shiro’s heart squeezes at the sight. There are dark circles under Keith’s eyes. He hasn’t taken off the bandana on his head, nor his apron. Bits of clay are crusting on his fingers where he hasn’t bothered to wipe them down fully before writing. Behind him are stacks and stacks and stacks of drying pots, cups, bowls, and plates, awaiting whatever the next step in their respective processes is.

“Hi Shiro,” Keith says tiredly, reaching up as Shiro bends down to kiss him. He smells like clean, earthy wet clay and day-old sweat.

“Hi baby,” Shiro says, rubbing his hands everywhere, down his back and on his shoulders, wherever Keith could be stiff. “How’s thesis going?”

“Sucks,” he says, leaning heavily into the touch. “I wanna chuck everything in the bin. Then chuck myself in.”

“Oh honey,” Shiro hugs him tight from behind as they both behold the glow of the laptop screen. “Have you slept on it? Come take break. You can come back to it with fresh eyes.”

“I can’t—” There it is again. “My adviser wants to see the draft by Friday.”

Shiro hums and presses a gentle line of kisses from the side of his cheek to the dip of his shoulder. “It’s Wednesday.”

“But Shiro—”

“You’ve finished throwing for the day, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, but-- _mmm_ (as Shiro sucks a hickey to life)—I want to work tomorrow without worrying about this stupid thing anymore.”

“Alright, you won’t. You’ll work on it tonight, okay? Did you eat today?” Shiro asks, rubbing broad circles on his back.

“A sandwich…” Keith says petulantly, still reluctant to part with his thesis he allegedly wanted to throw.

“And when did you last go to bed?” Shiro has a rough idea, as he’d seen his boyfriend passed out on the cot at the workshop before he left for work but he isn’t sure for long how that had been or if Keith had gotten any more prior to it.

“Uh…Tuesday?” Jesus. “Like, an hour and a half.” _Christ_.

“We’re sleeping.” Shiro declares.

Keith whips around to face him. “My thesis!” he protests. “And I just drank coffee. I’m not gonna be able to sleep at three in the afternoon—”

Shiro’s fingers find the knob of spine at base of his neck and press down. He likes this part.

Keith’s breath is arrested in his throat. His eyelids flutter and his head lolls back. His body slumps bit by bit, which Shiro easily supports. He still has a crease between his eyebrows, so Shiro presses down more firmly, and Keith groans, features finally falling slack and open. His eyes are slits of color beneath their lids, gaze slowly unfocusing.

The workshop chair between them isn’t comfortable, but they aren’t staying there anyway. Shiro presses his lips to Keith’s ear while one arm is braced against his chest. A whispered countdown, and he feels more than sees Keith fully close his eyes. A soft sigh escapes his lips as he relaxes more and more…

“…and deeper and deeper. You are safe. You are safe here. Safe to sink and go deeper.”

Gently, Shiro lifts Keith up and carries him bridal style back to the house, up to their bedroom and lays him on their bed. With a little hum of accomplishment, he takes off Keith’s bandana, the tie from his hair, his apron and work shoes. He goes back to the workshop and turns off any remaining electricity, saves Keith’s thesis and shuts his laptop, gathers old plates and mugs (there are three, and true enough, one looks like it had been recently drank from while the other two are…well.) He cleans them up in the sink, and deposits clothes in their respective hampers to be dealt with over the weekend.

When Shiro returns to the bedroom, Keith’s eyes are open, but hazy.

“Keith?”

His gaze doesn’t shift. His muscles lock for a moment in an attempt at movement which is aborted immediately. “Told you…” His words are soft and slow, as if it was a great effort to speak. “Can’t sleep.”

“I know, baby,” Shiro says, lying down beside him and stroking his hair. He doesn’t know when Keith had washed it last but he rakes his nails down his scalp in the way he knows Keith likes. He’s rewarded with another beautiful flutter of his eyelids and the smallest of gasps. “Float with me. I’ll get you down.”

Shiro inches closer and continues stroke Keith’s hair, watching the way his eyes haze further and further, gazing at the ceiling without seeing it. Shiro wonders if he could trance himself like this and makes a mental note to try some time. But for today, he has a goal, and it’s to get Keith his much needed rest.

“You will rest,” Shiro whispers; the hair that bounces with his breath tickles his lips. “And when you wake you will feel refreshed and energized, ready to work on and finish what you need for your thesis. You’ll remember to eat and sleep tomorrow and on Friday, and take it easy once all the deadlines are over.”

Despite the depth of Keith’s trance, he smirks a little at the mention of proper eating and sleeping. Shiro catches it and presses a kiss to his temple.

“In ten…nine, going down. Your eyes are getting heavier and heavier. It feels so good to close them. …Eight. You realize how tired you are, how tired this week has left you. You want to rest. It'll feel so good for you. You want more than rest… Seven…six…five.”

His voice is barely a whisper, and while Keith’s eyes have closed, there’s still the smallest of tensions in the corners. Shiro removes his hand from his hair and presses gently on it in an attempt to smooth it, and ends up stroking the entire subtle ridge of bone as he continues.

“Four…you’re down, you’re deep.

Three…it’s safe to rest.

Two…you’re almost there, my love.

One, and…

Sleep.”

\- - -


End file.
